


Carpe Nocte

by ChocolateRulez



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, F/M, Fluff, In Komaeda's POV, Introspection, Sharing a Bed, childhood pet, komamiki is only shown in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateRulez/pseuds/ChocolateRulez
Summary: He felt nothing when he told it to her. He thought he would receive this feeling of satisfactory and simultaneously obligatory love that he announced he had for her, but all he felt were the heavy palpitations in his chest from the lack of response.





	Carpe Nocte

**Author's Note:**

> YAYAYAY KOMAMIKI WEEK AND THIS DAY TWO FIC for prompt death is actually on time by a few minutes!! So long as it's before midnight, I'm on time!! Thanks to @EvilMuffins, because their fluffy fic notified me that it was Komamiki week.

 

“I think you’re the only one that actually loves me right now,” young Nagito sadly remarked to his golden retriever, whose response was to cutely whimper at his owner before he was tossed a trademark dog treat. His dog gobbled the treat before Nagito could even identify which color he had given him, but it was only a trivial curiosity that faded out anyways once his dog pounced back on top of him.

Nagito giggled softly, a child’s innocence echoing throughout his silent laughter so as to not awaken his perpetually cranky parents. With his luck working up to its extremities, his determined efforts would go unnoticed anyways. They were always extremely light sleepers, despite lounging on those renowned memory-foam mattresses that guaranteed any other average person an entire night of undisturbed slumber. And his dog was excessively vocal in expressing his animalistic love for his five-year old owner.

“Shhh,” he attempted to whisper an octave lower, but instead it only rose steadily in volume as his dog continued to unabashedly smear his wet tongue throughout Nagito’s face. “You’ll wake. . .!”

“Must we call the butler to escort the dog outside?” His mother exasperatedly inquired as she tiredly leaned on the left side of the mahogany doorway. Her footsteps were lithe and soundless against the rich floorboards that had never uttered a squeak. Or, at least, Nagito had never seen the ones that would’ve been automatically replaced if it occurred.

The dog halted its licking session with Nagito as he scurried under the table, knocking over some lavishly-adorned chairs whilst successfully burrowing himself. Both Nagito and his dog understood what the sight of his exhausted mother meant for both of them, no matter what Nagito’s response would be to the question she’d prod him with every night. Before Nagito could even open his mouth to plead with her against doing so, the aforementioned butler was already in the room and dragging the dog from his stubborn and purposeful placement under the table.

Nagito raced over to his dog before the butler could yank him towards the expansive backyard, as was standard routine every night at this point, and embraced him. His golden fur glinted under the slits of moonlight that peeked through the overtly-decorated curtains, tickling the side of Nagito’s cheek before the warm feeling was gone.

His dog howled, one that was drawn out and sounded almost painful to only Nagito’s ears, before the door was shut and nothing else could be heard except the butler shuffling back towards his designated quarters and the unmitigated anger that was simmering underneath Nagito’s apologetic exterior he pleasantly displayed to his sneering mother.

“Nagito, dear,” she cooed, and Nagito winced at the exaggerated tone that she presented, “do you want me to have a maid take you to bed?” Her ersatz concern was now painfully apparent to the child she directed her inquiry to, and he felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. It was becoming increasingly more complicated for him to mask his expression under an empty smile that he had been sporting more and more often these days when it came to facing his parents.

He saw something similar to this on the flatscreen TV that was conveniently propped up in his bedroom, if he could recall. A doting mother would ask her disturbed child if he would like to be escorted back to his comfy bed, where he would then be promptly tucked in. Sometimes, the child would even be told some cliché but still heartwarming fairytale that would never fail to tug at his heartstrings because every little boy his age dreamt of becoming a rugged prince saving his starstruck princess from a deadly dragon.

So why couldn’t his mother do the same? Was she that worn out from being awoken from her beauty sleep to tangle her child’s hand with hers and tuck him into bed? He was across the hall from his parents’ bedroom, which wasn’t as far off as one would imagine if she didn’t want to bring him to the room.

If it weren’t for the matter of distance, then why? Not once had he been introduced to his bed through his mother’s arms, not once had he been told some fascinating story that was passed down from generation to generation. It was always some busy maid that looked as if she would rather be washing the entire mansion’s dishes and silverware then pushing the fluffy duvet covers up to Nagito’s chin each night.

Perhaps his mother was the vile, deadly dragon. It was an amusing thought as it flew by his head, and a genuine smile seeped through the emptiness of his countenance before quickly fading again. His mother didn’t seem to notice the rapid change in his expression, having already spun around from facing him and signaling for a random maid to carry him upstairs to his room. She was replacing her responsibility as a mother to even spend more than a measly minute with her very own son in order to get an extra second into her sleep. Not even a minute, a second, because she doesn’t fall asleep as easily as she is jarred awake.

He would know, since she’d be muttering under her breath how the annoying piece of shit of a son didn’t comprehend how much more of an effort it took her these days to drift off once her nightly Tylenol had already completed its task for the night. Well, she didn’t comprehend how her son’s ears were fairly more attuned to his surroundings than she accredited him for.

He then remembered what some kid with well-meaning parents had shouted at his mother before she departed on an unknown journey, and he felt compelled to say it too even though he knew she would be glaring at him in the morning when she was shoving corn flakes down his unwilling throat. “I love you, goodnight!” The last word was hastily appended as an afterthought because it was pitch dark outside and he guessed that it was past midnight by this time.

It felt foreign when he pronounced it, and he felt nothing when he told it to her. He thought he would receive this feeling of satisfactory and simultaneously obligatory love that he announced he had for her, but all he felt were the heavy palpitations in his chest from the lack of response from his mother. A type of eagerly frightened expectation for her reply.

She said nothing. Maybe she hadn’t heard him the first time? He opted to say it again, ignoring the blatant alarms that were blaring inside his head and were trying to signal otherwise. He shouted those three words that carried such heavy emotional baggage but had him only feeling expectant fear for what she would say. And he still received nothing as a response. The heavy silence that he received in return was more of a reply than anything she would’ve told him at that moment. It was tightly woven with unspoken truth, to not accept nor deny his proclamation of love because she didn’t reciprocate.

She was doing him more of a favor by not saying anything than replying with something fake that would be practically oozing out of her voice and make him a bit queasy with natural disgust. He stood, paralyzed at the bottom of the stairs, watching as her figure slowly distanced itself away from him until he couldn’t see her anymore even if he tiptoed.

He stayed at the bottom of the steps even after he heard her bumbling down the hallway and back into her room where his father was most likely fast asleep, snoring heavily. He stayed even after he saw the maid who was unfortunate enough to be ruled out as his caretaker for the night stepped forward from the shadows into the silvery moonlight that illuminated the staircase into a ghastly white.

“It’s time to head up to bed,” the maid behind him announced softly, enwrapping her hand around his and leading him up the same stairs he saw his mother run away into. Run away from her responsibilities and from the love her son had that she was too bothered to give back. He clutched the maid’s hand tighter as his anger dissipated into the night.

At least he still had his dog in the morning. There was someone who wouldn't hesitate to show their love. 

 

* * *

 

 

His dog passed away peacefully, both his parents endlessly assured him as he openly bawled beside the medical table they placed his precious Golden Retriever in. The doctor had vacantly promised him that he was just going to put him to sleep for the time being, and although Nagito felt an ominous feeling arise from his chest from the panicked expressions his parents exchanged, he wholeheartedly believed the doctor’s words because that was all the hope he had left.

  
Did the doctor carry out the procedure wrong? His utter confusion only intensified as the doctor apologized to him and his mother wiped his back soothingly, her face streaked with salty tears that she had been weakly attempting to fight off for the past half hour. This was the most comforting way his mother had ever touched him, the only time he didn’t feel a bruise slowly forming in his body because she was gripping him too tightly.

His father remained as silent and as stoic as ever, and he adjusted his glasses before they slipped off his sharp nose. “They had to do this, son,” he murmured as he patted his shoulder coldly, “your dog was going to be in a lot of more pain if they hadn’t let him off like this.” Those were the only words he muttered before he stood up and left the despairing scene. His excuse flew out the door, the words of work and deadline barely registering in Nagito’s mind until the door was firmly shut.

His mother resumed her weeping, hastily dabbing an intricately-patterned handkerchief from her skirt pocket. She didn’t even love this dog as he had, didn’t even spare him a second glance unless he was loudly barking in her face to be released outside so he can relieve himself. Suddenly she was acting as if she had potty-trained the dog herself and hadn’t exiled him every night only because Nagito was having fun with him.

The same anger that he had now familiarly associated as brazen hatred for his hypocritical mother infused his very core until he was seething from just glimpsing at her tear-stricken countenance. She placed a hand on his shoulder, which didn’t alleviate his rage in any way or form, and promised him that it wasn’t his fault his dog raced in front of that truck.

It was her fault, he thought, but he kept it to himself because he knew it was just pent-up emotion ranting to his mind. He was in desperate need to find someone to blame besides himself and his lovely dog whose only sin was to be naïve and ignorant to the ways of the world. But the comforting circles she was lazily rubbing on his back was something that he never felt before from his mother.

“I promise,” she whispered, croaking from the onslaught of tears that were to inundate her being again, “that I’ll be with you. Okay, Nagito dear?”

He nodded blankly, a gesture that he had automatically done because it felt like the only right thing to do in the moment and he hadn’t done the right thing by pushing his dog away and ending his own neglected life right then and there. He snapped out of his self-depreciating reverie for a moment, warily frightened from the negative thought process his grieving mind led him to.

Not once had he ever considered ending his life prior to that moment. It was the first of many similar thoughts to come.

“Okay, Mama,” he vocalized, because he needed something to distract him from his own mind that was honestly spooking him.

She embraced him afterwards, when they were siting in the plush seats of their private car, being comfortably driven by their well-trained chauffeur. Better trained than the man who was manning that truck, hopefully. She rubbed his wild and untamed auburn hair that he had inherited from her, whispering about how he didn’t deserve to espy such a gruesome sight at such a young and impressionable age. “We were very lucky to have not lost you too when you tried saving that dog. I love you so very much, Nagito. Want to eat some pistachio ice cream with Mama?”

He had blanked out after the first sentence, not even acknowledging her reciprocation of love that only emerged because tragedy struck and she wanted to replace her sadness with comfort. It wasn’t very lucky at all that he had died, it was the worst type of luck to have been bestowed on him.

The only creature to have loved him! Dead!

“Nagito?” His mother seemed mildly worried from his lack of response, but he knew perfectly well that she was just relieved he hadn’t died. Years of being with his parents had shaped him into someone who could gain keen insight from an individual’s character.

This perceptive intuition followed him for years after, and sometimes he’d even think that he could make a talent out of it. But people don’t usually like to have all their weaknesses and strengths determined only from a few encounters.

  
Except for Mikan, that is. If he hadn’t picked up that the actual reason she was stumbling into everybody’s view and handing them a free view of her cotton panties was simply because she were afraid that was the only type of attention she could ever receive, then he’d still be searching for ways to effectively hurt himself in order to advance people’s hopes and she would still be getting slapped around for acting like some easy pick.

“N-Nagito?” Mikan whispered, her hand twitching as if she wanted to brush back his untamed hair but thought against it. Her reasoning of not touching him was of a sharp contrast compared to his stony mother, who still haunted him to this day. His mother didn’t want to touch him because she didn’t love him. She was rather indifferent to his presence.

Mikan didn’t want to touch him because she loved him too much. He discovered from one of her tearful confessions that the people she loved didn’t like it when she touched them. He guessed it was for lack of love, and in place of love there was usually indifference or disgust. Her loved ones had often been affected with the latter.

Nagito wondered why he had been vividly dreaming of the night before his dog died and after he passed away in the doctor’s office. His usual nightmares were of the moment that passed in between, when his dog’s blood splattered all over his white-buttoned shirt and slacks. Or when he saw his parents die in front of him as he watched the plane’s engine explode and blast their smug faces off.

Never had he dreamt of such an uneventful scene before. Yet despite the tremendous lack of blood that was oozing from his mother’s body, it was one of the most frightening memories he had recovered to date. Maybe it was because he felt his childlike innocence blacken that very night, or after his dog was announced dead he felt the blackened emotions from the night prior arise and darken his entire being.

Or, because that was when he realized the bouts of luck he had been receiving killed his dog. And in return, his parents finally noticed him and loved him in the correct way a parent loves a child.

Mikan tugged his arm fearfully, her own insecurities about whether or not his feelings for her would change from her soft touch being overridden by her immense perturbation for him. He felt an ounce of self-hatred for keeping such a kind girl as Mikan fretting for his well-being almost every night, but it quickly evaporated once he realized that she must feel the same way when she awoken him every other night. Usually it wasn’t because she had any horrifying nightmares that stayed imprinted within her even after she was jolted back into reality, but to have him talk with her and keep her insecure fears in check until she winked off into sleep.

He never truly minded whenever she’d keep him awake at night, preferring that she would be sound asleep rather than him. And her insomnia was more prevalent than his. But tonight, he was the one to have kept her awake, and he regretted sleeping in the same bed with her tremendously.

If he slept outside like the worthless trash he was, she-

“Are you okay?” She questioned him in a soft whisper that sounded angelic to his ears.

“Yeah. Just a nightmare. Nothing much to worry about.”

“O-Okay. You can tell me if y-you’d like, if that w-would make you feel better,” she replied, and he tentatively wrapped an arm around her waist. He still felt uncomfortable when it came to expressing what he felt for her through gestures such as this. The fact that she was still with him was amazing and surprising to him.

He shook his head, placing his chin on her dark hair that was tied in a lazy bun for the night. “Wouldn’t want to burden you,” he mumbled, knowing that she would adamantly disagree otherwise.

She did, and he smiled at the strong love she had for someone like him. She was the type of person to love another fully and wholeheartedly. She once intimidated  even Junko Enoshima with her love once, and her love for others was even labeled as borderline obsessive and unhealthy. Her fanatical ways had dimmed down over the past years, the increasing amount of time she spent with Nagito becoming evidence that not everyone leaves her. Her entire class hadn’t, and certainly not Nagito.

“Mikan,” he said, and she replied with an affirmative hum to confirm she still hadn’t drifted off into the hazy grips of sleep just yet.

“If it doesn’t bother you too much, can you read me a bedtime story?”


End file.
